


Legend

by foundCarcosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have no explanation for this, except for it being a great excuse to write prettily. [Past Work]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legend

“You are not supposed to be here.”

Sigmund blinked, cutting his eyes to the right at the sound of such a clipped, stern voice, a voice so obviously feminine that its commanding tone seemed incongruent. The gaze that met his was shrewd. Guarded. Almost piercing. Sigmund took a longer moment than he should have to respond, and not just because he was startled at being addressed by the _prima donna_  herself.

“And what do you mean by this?”

A single click as she took a step forward, then an answering one as her other foot followed suit. Measured steps, to match a measured voice. Even her blinking seemed like clockwork. “You  _know_ what I mean.”

Strangely enough, Sigmund did, as soon as she spoke the words. But she continued, anyway.

“You are much like the German, but you are not him. You are  _before_ him. What business have you here now.”

He couldn’t escape her challenging stare; the concert hall had emptied out minutes prior, and only the staff remained to sweep aisles and readjust lights. Sigmund’s collar tightened around his neck as he swallowed thickly, finding that the more she stared, the less he willed her to look away.

“My presence here is not my doing. Might I ask why you are so curious?” Oh, Sigmund could be challenging as well, his ice-blue gaze topped by arched eyebrows and underscored by thin, taut lips. His hair shifted as he tilted his head, flaxen strands sliding over his starched collar and broad shoulder.

“It is unnerving to see you. Here. Real. You should be legend, not flesh.” Inexplicably, the intimidating crispness of her gaze softened, and she regarded him with slightly less suspicion now. “They should have let you rest.”

Sigmund inclined his head with an upward twitch of his lips, recognising her sentiment but having no rebuttal.

“Did you enjoy the performance, then.” Her speaking voice, unlike her singing voice, had no upward lilt. All of her inquiries sounded like statements.

“I did. Greatly.”

Her lips pursed, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Sigmund had just enough time to observe pale lashes on pale cheeks and feel his nails scrape against his palms as his hands convulsed, before she was fixing him with her gaze again. “Natalia Arlovskaya.”

He bowed his head, raising his right hand to his heart. “Sigmund.”

“It is a rare man that only needs one name,” she said, and then the right corner of her mouth raised. Her eyes didn’t burn into him as intently anymore.

—

The next time Sigmund took in a performance, he travelled to Belarus to see it on Natalia Arlovskaya’s land. And this time, it was he who sought her when the curtains lowered for the night.

“You again.”

He heard the click of stiletto heels behind him too late, and slowly turned from his lookout position to come face-to-face with the object of his interest. “Me, again.”

Slowly she approached him, appearing to take her time; her gown swished gently around long legs, drawing Sigmund’s eyes. He wasn’t entirely unconvinced that she hadn’t intended on refocusing his attention. “You obviously enjoy my voice. What else?”

He wasn’t surprised at her directness. “You. Your poise, your deliberateness.”

“My sense of intrigue.”

“Your arresting speaking voice.”

“My legs.”

“Your legs.”

Sigmund’s head felt full and heavy, as if he were being pulled under, into depths he hadn’t anticipated navigating so soon. Somehow, she’d drawn near enough to him that his fingers twitched, eager to close the distance. Though she had to tilt her head slightly to keep eye contact with him, he felt no larger, no taller. Her power over him was absolute.

“Come.”

He did. He _would_ … 

—

Sigmund’s back thudded against the dressing room door, the latch being driven home with an audible click. The room was lit just enough for him to see Natalia’s delicately curved outline a few feet away, as she bent slightly to peer in the vanity mirror. Deft hands removed pins from her chignon, and ashen hair tumbled free. Sigmund’s breath soughed out of his lungs.

“Well, then.” Her gaze flicked towards him in the mirror, expectantly. She straightened, tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe before pivoting neatly and leaning against the edge of the vanity. “You come all the way to Belarus, but you come no closer now.”

The flush of a bumbling adolescent flared in his cheeks, and Sigmund marvelled at it, distantly. He made his approach, fixated on a fleeting glimpse of pink tongue as it moistened lips he was so close to tasting. Her aria still rang in his mind, aural beauty meshing with the fleshly beauty before him and tightening his chest, his gut, things even lower than that. And just as he got close enough to put his hands flat on the surface behind her, she uncrossed her ankles and deliberately set her feet apart so her skirts gathered tantalisingly in the juncture between her thighs…

Sigmund burned as he kissed her, his body falling into the cradle she made for it, his hands wanting so desperately to touch her but needed to support him since his legs weren’t doing the best job anymore. Natalia pushed past his jacket and under the waistcoat, slipping agile fingers in and undoing one, just one button on his shirt. His abdomen contracted when she touched it. Her nails dug in slightly as if in admonishment. His hips rolled forward, and he was unapologetic, even groaning lowly against her parted lips.

Moments later, her hands were in his hair, and a gentle tug broke the kiss. Sigmund flushed hotly at the intensity of her gaze.  
” _Da_. I want you. For how long, I do not know. But I do.”

The pull on his scalp loosened his tongue. “You will break me.”

“Oh, I can break many. But not you. Legends that refuse to die will not break.”

“I am not much of a legend, Natalia.”

For the briefest of moments — so brief, in fact, that Sigmund may have imagined it — both corners of her reddened lips turned upward. “We shall see, Sigmund. We shall see…”


End file.
